


Road to...

by Electricviolinist



Series: Void [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-30
Updated: 2015-11-30
Packaged: 2018-05-04 02:16:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5316506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Electricviolinist/pseuds/Electricviolinist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A sequel to Void, as requested.<br/>The next day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Road to...

He awoke wrapped in a freshly laundered sheet. It smelled of detergent, of what a chemical company assumed a summer meadow smelled like. And it smelt of his own body. And of something else.

He groaned, because he didn’t want to wake up. Sleep had been a beautiful world of comfort and blackness. He’d been warm and comfortable and empty. He’d been free, for a few hours, of the misery around him. He had to sleep again. He didn’t need to get up, he could hide once more in the blanket of darkness, go back to sleep.

The surface he slept on dipped suddenly next to him.

His heartrate doubled in a moment, the organ fluttering like crazy. His eyes flew open.

“Go back to sleep, Stiles,” said Peter Hale from the other side of the bed.

Stiles blinked twice, heart slowing slightly, and irritation rather than surprise taking control of his brain.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he demanded.

Though he didn’t get out of bed to demand it.

Peter made a disgusted noise, “Personally, I’m trying to get some sleep. Would you like to do the same?”

“Um,” said Stiles, stupidly. “Why are you doing it in my bed?”

With a sigh, Peter shifted once more, “You mean my bed, as I am the one who’s paying for the room,” said the werewolf, lazily. “And I’ve already had the lecture from Derek. If he failed to convince me with growling, you will fail to convince me with whining. So go to sleep.”

“But…” said Stiles, but with no idea how to complete that argument. “Where is Derek?” he asked instead.

Derek answered that himself by throwing himself up from the floor by the bed, obviously still confused by sleep.

“Get out of the bed, Peter!” he ordered.

Peter made another noise of disgust. “All I’m doing is sleeping! Why can’t you two get over whatever your problem is and let me sleep?!”

“Stiles,” said Derek in a vastly different voice, “I’m sorry. He told me he was going to sleep on the floor!”

“And then I waited for him to sleep before I got into bed,” Peter concluded, “I saw no reason to sleep on a hard and probably dirty floor when there was more than four feet by 6 feet of mattress unused.”

Derek advanced with a growl.

“Stiles,” said Peter, “Have I touched you in any way?”

“Um,” said Stiles, “I don’t think so.”

“I think we can all agree that, while Stiles is beautiful in many ways, his real appeal to anyone is his intelligence and sparkling personality,” said Peter, with ambiguous levels of sarcasm. “To take advantage of him while he wasn’t conscious would be like eating uncooked chicken. Now can we all sleep, please? Personally only had an hour and a half, and I am a true believer in a full eight hours.”

Stiles wasn’t certain if there was a compliment in there or not, but he was mostly to sleepy to care right now. He’d spent nights with worse people than Peter. Well one worse person than Peter. It probably didn’t matter.

“He’s been through enough,” growled Derek.

“Then get in with us so you can protect him from my evil thoughts and wandering hands,” Peter replied, a yawn in his voice.

Stiles looked at Derek. He really wouldn’t mind. He’d felt Derek muscles around him earlier. There was something about his strength that was so appealing, and Stiles was sure Derek would see that in his eyes.

Derek paused for a long moment. Peter had turned away from them both, apparently intent on sleeping again. Derek was looking down at Stiles.

“You’re hurt,” he said, “You need space.”

Stiles shrugged, “I’m not going to mend anytime soon.”

“Stiles, just…” Derek brushed a tired hand through his hair, gaze passing up and down Stiles’ body, as though searching for wounds. “Tell me to throw Peter out and I’ll… you know…”

Stiles shook his head.

“Stiles!” Derek groaned.

Stiles lifted the sheets beside him, keeping his eyes on Derek. He didn’t know why he was doing it. Maybe he felt he owed Derek that much. Maybe he thought, if Derek thought Stiles was letting him in, he’d let his guard down, and Stiles could go back to his punishment.

Derek looked at the bed like it was a wonderful beautiful thing. Stiles counted to ten in his head. Derek was in the bed before he got to eight.

Stiles had a Hale on either side of him. Once upon a time, this would have sent him into a frenzy of panic and excitement and weirdness. Right now, he was going back to sleep. When he awoke, he would return to Theo, who would give him the pain he deserved. It would be fine. A night in a hotel or motel or whatever this place was, didn’t make him free.

Derek’s body behind him didn’t make him whole.

Peter’s body before him should make him freak out more than it did.

His eyes closed and he slept again.

***

The next time he awoke, his head was clearer. Sleep was less heavy upon him.  His eyes blinked open more easily, and his limbs weren’t weighed down. He could feel Derek’s steady presence behind him, hear his comfortable breathing. He could just reach back…

He couldn’t. There was somewhere he needed to be.

There was no Peter in front of him. The older man must be in the bathroom. Stiles rolled smoothly away from Derek, until his legs could reach the far side of the bed.  The mattress creaked slightly with the moves, and he looked back to check that Derek was still asleep.

“Don’t blame him,” said Peter from a chair by the door, “He tried to stay awake for five days when we were looking for you.” He looked back down at a tablet in his hand.

With a thrill of surprise, Stiles glared at him. Then he looked at the door, trying to decide how to get past Peter. Pete would probably just let him.

“No,” said Peter.

“What?” asked Stiles.

Peter looked up at him again. “Stockholm Syndrome,” he said, and looked back down at his tablet.

“That’s not a sentence,” said Stiles.

“You don’t need the full sentence from me,” said Peter.

Stiles shrugged, “You think I have Stockholm syndrome.”

Peter smiled at him.

“I don’t,” said Stiles. “I don’t empathize with Theo. I know he’s a monster.”

Peter’s smile didn’t waver. “Is that why you sleep with him?” he asked, “If I’d known monsters turned you on, I would have taken advantage a long time ago.”

Stiles scowled.

“No,” said Peter, “You’re not a monster groupie.”

Stiles rolled his eyes, “Thanks,” he said, “Can I go now?”

“No,” said Peter, simply. “You’re not sleeping with Theo because he’s a monster. You’re sleeping with Theo the monster because you think that you are a monster, too.” Peter put the tablet down. “And you deserve to be punished.”

Stiles shivered, “What you’re an amateur psychologist now?” he asked with false bluster.

Peter hummed, “Yes, I suppose with my inherited millions, my Master’s Degree in psychology could be considered more of a hobby than a profession.”

It was a small effort to hide his surprise, which apparently made Peter smile.

“Don’t believe you,” Stiles mumbled.

“Yes you do,” replied Peter. “Now, you’re not leaving. Your choices are go back to bed or eat some breakfast.”

Stiles crossed his arms, “Psychologist and jailor?”

“If you like,” said Peter, “Jail is a more common punishment for manslaughter than rape.”

The word made Stiles want to peel his skin off. But he wasn’t about to let Peter in on that, “There’s a difference between jail and prison.”

Peter nodded, “And you are employing very basic avoidance techniques.”

Stiles scowled, “I’m correcting your misunderstanding of the legal system. As a felon, you should probably know stuff like that.”

Peter smiled once more. “Are you going to sleep or eat breakfast?”

“But I’m enjoying our psychotherapy session.”

Peter grinned, “I could tie you to the desk and beat your bare ass ‘til you scream,” he said.

Stiles’ insides exploded with… something.

“Get out!” growled a voice behind Stiles.

 Peter rolled his eyes.

“Get out!” repeated Derek angrily.

“You’re not my alpha, Derek,” said Peter, “you cannot order me to do anything.”

“I can slice your throat open,” said Derek.

“But you won’t,” said Peter, his eyes on Stiles’. “And I know you can smell Stiles’ reaction.”

“Stiles is sick,” Derek growled, “I will not let you take advantage!”

Peter licked his lips, “Stiles, do you feel I am taking advantage?”

“Yes,” said Stiles.

“Does it bother you?”

“No.”

“That’s enough,” said Derek, throwing himself off the bed, and storming towards Peter.

Peter held up a hand. “If you throw me out, Stiles will wait until you’re not watching and return to Theo before you can count to ten.”

Derek paused, “Then I’ll tie him up,” he said.

Peter smiled, and waited for Derek to spot the flaw in his own statement.

Stiles had had enough. “Seriously, it’s sweet that you guys give a shit, but I’m going back now.”

“No you’re not,” said both Hales in unison.

“Much as I don’t care what happens to Peter, I don’t want any other deaths on my conscience. So you’re both going to leave town and not come back.”

“No,” Derek said.

“Even if you thought we’d listen to your flawed reasoning, Stiles, you must realize that I’m going to fetch my daughter,” said Peter.

Stiles’ hand clenched on nothing in mild panic, “You’ve got to!”

“You have an inflated sense of your own self-importance,” Peter told him.

“Firstly, irrelevant to the argument,” said Stiles, “Secondly, not true.”

“Who do you think you’ve killed?”

Trust a murderer to ask a question like that so fucking calmly. Stiles bit his lip, and faced the floor. He couldn’t face Derek when he thought about those things.

“Come on, Stiles,” Peter cooed, “If you want us to believe you should be punished, we have to know why.”

Stiles shook his head, trying to see Derek without looking at him.

“Yes, Derek too,” said Peter, “He’s even less likely than me to let you go back there.”

Stiles glared at Peter. If it weren’t for Peter, he would have escaped already. Derek had to leave before he got hurt.

“If you make him hate you, he might not care if you go back,” Peter suggested.

Stiles saw Derek stiffen. Maybe he would hate Stiles if he knew the truth. Maybe. It would hurt to make Derek hate him, but Stiles deserved to hurt.

“I killed a guy called Donovan.”

Both Derek and Peter were silent for a moment, and Stiles knew they were listening to his heart for the sound of a lie.

“Who was Donovan?” Peter asked, his tone of voice slightly changed now. Maybe he had stopped being patronizing now that he believed Stiles could be a killer.

“He wanted to hurt my dad,” said Stiles. “So I killed him.”

“Lie,” said Derek.

“No,” said Stiles.

“He wanted to hurt your dad, that’s true,” said Peter, “but that’s not why you killed him.”

Stiles glared, “So he came after me,” he said.

Peter nodded, “So it was self-defense,” he said.

Stiles refused to answer.

Derek’s body relaxed, “Stiles, you can’t blame yourself for killing someone who was trying to kill you.”

“Yes I can,” said Stiles, “I don’t know he wanted to kill me. We agreed not to kill them.”

“Not to kill who?” asked Peter.

“The chimeras,” said Stiles.

Derek sighed, “Stiles, you cannot feel bad for killing a supernatural creature that was trying to kill you! You had no other choice!”

Stiles closed his eyes and forced himself to remember Scott’s face as he had confronted Stiles. The accusation, the disgust, the fury. He remembered the way his heart had torn apart.

“I killed Scott,” he said.

“No you didn’t,” said Peter, “We know who did that.”

Stiles glared, “I killed Allison.”

“No you didn’t,” said Derek.

“Did you actively choose to kill anyone, Stiles?” asked Peter.

“That’s not the point!” Stiles cried.

“Of course it is,” said Peter, “I am a murderer. I chose to kill people. I feel no guilt for it, because every one of them deserved to die.  But you are not a murderer.”

“There are people who are dead because of me!”

“There are people who are alive because of you,” said Derek.

“Name one,” said Stiles, angrily.

“Me,” said Derek.

Stiles stared at him in surprise.

“Cora, Malia, Lydia, Isaac, Jackson,” said Peter, “And you gave Scott and Allison an extra couple of years.”

“You’re lying,” said Stiles.

“He’s not,” said Derek.

“Look, if I hadn’t told Scott to go looking for the body…”

“Then I’d have bitten someone else with a less annoying sidekick, built up my pack, killed every Argent on the Earth, then maybe my own pack when Deucalion came calling,” said Peter. “Yes, you’re right, the world would be a far better place if you weren’t in it.”

Stiles gave Derek a look, “Why are you giving him another chance?” he asked.

Derek shrugged.

“The point, my dear little friend, is that you have lost the argument,” said Peter. “You will be staying with Derek and me, until we are certain you no longer pose a danger to yourself. If you can tear yourself away from your undeserved self-hatred for long enough, advice on how to extricate my daughter from the clutches of the chimera would be appreciated. The little angry one can go either way, I really don’t care, but you two seem to care about the waifs and strays, so that’s up to you. Now, would you like to be tied over the desk or to a chair?”

“Fuck you,” said Stiles, angrily.

“Well, I was going to suggest back on the bed, as it would be more comfortable, but that was just rude.”

“We don’t have to tie him up,” said Derek, “He’s not going to run.”

“Oh,” said Peter, “But I want to tie him up. He wants it too, can’t you tell?”

“We’re not tying him up,” Derek insisted.

Stiles sat more squarely on the bed and folded his arms in a sulk. “So what are we going to do all day?” he asked, hoping it came out as acid as he felt it should.

“Look after you,” said Derek quietly.

He scooped a surprised Stiles up into his arms, and then sat him down further up the bed. He shoved pillows between Stiles’ back and the headboard, and then pulled the covers up over Stiles’ legs.

“Weirdo,” Stiles told him, as Derek grabbed the TV remote.

“Werewolf,” said Derek. “Weird is relative.”

He sat on the bed beside Stiles and turned on the TV. He put on some innocuous morning show which made Peter groan. Stiles was grateful for something so normal. Shiny people being happy and teaching them to cook and discussing the merits of blenders. Stiles switched his brain off and watched. He leaned his head on Derek’s shoulder.

Peter made a disgusted noise, and picked up his tablet once more.  He was probably finding something more highbrow to read. It didn’t really matter.

Eventually they’d let their guard down.  And if Theo found them first, maybe Stiles could offer his own life for theirs. Or maybe just Derek’s. Derek deserved to live a life with no Stiles to poison it.


End file.
